Kurai
by stopwatch-plz
Summary: Loss is a powerful emotion


The sun shone it's last dying rays over the park, giving off a final flare as as it sunk slowly past the horizon. Spring was still a few weeks away, and the chill of the afternoon was exacerbated by the sharp wind which occasionally blew leaves and trash around the almost-deserted playground. There were no families around at that time, no children to break the oppressive mood with sharp squeals and high laughter. The only sound to be heard was the slow squeaking of chains moving against metal, and the soft _chk _of a cigarette lighter wheel being spun, as Yata pushed himself back and forth on a rusted swing. He sighed as he spun the wheel once again, harder than before, and he blinked as it burst into a small flame. He sat and he let his mind wander as the fire spluttered and died.

It had been two months; two months since he'd lost his purpose, and that was truly how he felt - lost, and abandoned. It was a familiar, strange, awful feeling, as though the ground underneath him had suddenly disappeared and he was falling further and further with no end in sight, no handholds to reach out for. Yata had always listened to his heart, rather than his head, and he'd had no qualms in doing so - he knew he was a follower, and he would follow whoever gave him the reason to. He had been given someone to look up to, someone to be his benchmark, his goal; someone to devote himself to, body and soul, whether he had realised it at the time or not. Memories flashed through Yata's mind - Totsuka trying to master his skateboard and failing miserably, and the boy getting his own back when Yata attempted to play the guitar (at which point Kusanagi threatened to bar them from the place). Walking through Shizume with the clan, on Mikoto's right-hand side, finally happy that he has a purpose in his life. And as for that damn monkey...

Without even realising it his hand reached into his pocket to withdraw a pack of cigarettes, and he flipped open the top. The Marlboro box was crumpled and torn, the one remaining cigarette bent to the point of almost breaking, but not quite. He had found it at the bar, fallen down behind a table, forgotten and left behind. Yata looked down at the packet with a blank, then closed his eyes as he pulled out the remaining stick and raised it to his mouth, his lips closing around it. Yata sat like that for a while, his other senses taking over from his sight, and he bit his bottom lip as a faint perfume reached his nose - of sweat and smoke and cologne. He bit back a wave of emotion that threatened to crash over him. If he lost it now...

Angrily, he spun the wheel again, and it sparked briefly before lighting. Cupping his other hand around it, to protect the flame, he raised his hands to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. As he inhaled, Yata let go of the lighter and let the smoke wind its way down inside him. The brand wasn't familiar to him, but the motions were.

...

_Yata glanced around furtively, then hurried quickly around the corner of the building. Wasting no time, he fished the packet of cigarettes out of his school bag and lit one quickly. He was pretty sure that no-one would venture this far away from the main school campus, but he didn't want to take any chances. After the last fight he'd somehow gotten into, he was on his last warning before a temporary exclusion, and as much as he hated school, he didn't want that to be on his record._

"_You're about as subtle as a brick."_

_The voice made Yata jump and he smacked his head on the wall behind him. He swore as he saw who had interrupted him. "Stupid monkey," he swore as he rubbed the back of his head, where a small lump was already forming._

"_I don't think you're in a position to call me that," Fushimi said, leaning against the wall of the disused classroom they were using for cover. "Don't you have class now?" he asked as he raised an eyebrow in question._

_Yata shook his head as he took another drag of the cigarette then grinned. "It's meant to be study period now."_

"_I know what I'd like to study," Fushimi said in a low voice, and leant in closer to Yata, pushing them both into the wall as he brought them together in a kiss._

"_Not here, idiot," Yata shouted as he pushed Fushimi in the chest, forcing him to take a couple of steps backwards. _

_Fushimi gave a soft laugh. "Still too worried about what people will think? It's not like you have any other friends," he shot back scornfully, and Yata glared._

"_Shut up, stupid!"_

"_No, _this _is stupid," Fushimi said as he reached up to pluck the cigarette from Yata's mouth and broke it in two, letting the pieces fall to the ground as he ground them into the dirt._

"_Bastard," Yata swore as he picked up his bag and put it over his head as he strode past Fushimi and headed towards the main buildings without looking back._

_..._

Yata was brought back from his memories by the sound of boots scuffing over pavement, and he sighed. _I'm too tired to fight, _he thought.

"Where's your board?"

Yata looked up, surprised - of all the things he'd expected to hear, that wasn't one of them.

"I thought you were surgically attached to that thing," Fushimi said, then peered at the lit cigarette in Yata's hand. "And I thought you'd given that up."

"I don't need another mother," Yata shot back angrily, and took a deep drag on the cigarette, which triggered a coughing fit as the smoke hit his lungs.

"It's stupid," Fushimi said, as he bent down to pluck the cigarette from Yata's hand and threw it over his shoulder, not looking or caring where it landed.

Yata looked up angrily. "You're stu~" As he looked up into Fushimi's eyes, he say something there - something that looked scarily like worry. He didn't manage to complete the sentence before another rush of emotion hit him, and this time he wasn't so lucky. A choked sob escaped his lips as a shudder ran through his body and he dropped his hands to his lap. Silently he hunched over, the crumpled cigarette packet still clasped tightly in his fist as the first tear fell, almost silently.

"_Tch," _Fushimi chided softly as he sat down on the bench and, after rolling his eyes just a little, he slid an arm around the waist of his former friend as he felt another wave of grief roll through Yata's slight frame. He closed his eyes and sighed as he brought them together, which was the cue for Homra's vanguard to fall apart completely.

Yata grasped fistfulls of material in his free hand and let the tears fall freely now as he curled into Fushimi's chest. It felt so familiar that it hurt, a reminder of everything he had lost in the last few years. He hated himself for being so vulnerable, and he hated that it had to be him, of all people, who had been able to give Yata what he needed.

And he hated Mikoto for leaving him.


End file.
